They Promised
by kashew klick
Summary: Twenty four tributes. They swore to return, swore to live. Twenty four promises. And yet only one will win, only one promise will come true. The 98th Games, who will survive? (SYOT Closed)
1. A Sinister Plot

**A little bit of backstory: Prim was never reaped, Katniss never volunteered, etc, etc. The girl from twelve won and went into the Quarter Quell with Haymitch. **

* * *

Latisha Spark was the escort for District Two. Or used to be, which would be the more accurate words. She had bright, curly pink hair, dark green eyes, light pink skin, feathery eyelashes, and a very angry expression on her face.

"Oh, curses!" she howled, because she had just received a letter informing her of her recent removal from her job. Actually, to the non-capitalite ear it sounded more like she had just stepped on her foot and was now attempting to act like a snake, but for the sake of simplicity I will translate what she said for you.

Latisha shook her hand at her 42 inch wide platinum hi-definition television screen. On screen, a very youngish-looking woman with dyed white hair was being interviewed. She was the new escort for Two. The woman's name was Adora LaBelle.

Her nails, white with black kittens, made Latisha sick.

On screen, the woman was speaking. "Oh, I am so excited to be the escort for Two this year! I even got my nails painted specially for them. Look!" Adora flashed her kittens at the screen. "Kittens are so cute! I thought that those barbaric Districtians would need some civilizing."

Latisha snorted. She knew for a fact from her eighteen years of escorting (three victors!) that the tributes usually looked at Capital fashions with disgust and amusement. The two future tributes would probably think of Adora as insane.

Adora probably was.

Adora was still talking. "Oh yes, I hope to have a victor this year. I mean, Two! What a lovely district! A lot of victors, and such good-looking tributes too!"

What an idiot.

District Two was not exactly full of good-looking people. That was District One, with its blond-haired beauties. Though Two had it occasional hot male hunk or the lethal beauty, its tributes—though muscular and athletic looking—were not always lookers.

Adora would fail as an escort. Latisha knew from experience that Adora would be hated by her tributes. Escorts that acted way too Capitalish and enthusiastic were (a. extremely unhelpful (b. considered stupid (c. annoying and weird and (d. tended to interrupt tribute's concentration.

Bring!

Without warning, the phone interrupted Latisha's thoughts. Not thinking, she picked it up. Her name was screamed in her ear.

"Latisha!" her mother, Augusta Killius-Sparks screamed. "What is that vulgar woman doing on my screens? I thought you were in charge of the Two tributes!" Her mother sounded very angry.

"Oh, hello Ma," Latisha said. "I was fired."

Augusta Killius-Sparks was not exactly famous for being comforting in times of distress and disappointment. Augusta's one claim to fame was actually her daughter. Needless to say, Mrs. Killius-Sparks was rather mad.

There was at that point a long stream of swearing that the author has found inappropriate to publish. Then, "You are disowned! Until, unless you become the escort again! I never want to see your disgraceful *beep censored word * *beep censored word* face again! Go!" and the line went dead with a click.

Latisha stared at the phone in horror, which did not do anything to change her mother's mind. Sure, her mother was temperamental, selfish, annoying, rarely felt gratitude for anything Latisha did for her, and way too pastel green for Latisha's taste, but her mother was, well, her mother. And Latisha was pretty sure that you weren't supposed to disown your daughter when she got fired from her job. That kinda stuff was wrong. It only happened, like, in the districts or something when a career died a dishonorable death in the Games. Not in the glamorous, shining Capital. No way.

Then Latisha remembered. Unless you become the escort again. Oh sweet, there was a chance. Maybe. If she got Adora fired from her job. Well, Latisha wasn't sure. They would probably move Fabia Leonard from Four to Two. But at least she had to try. She had to come up with a plan!

That night, as Latisha lay in bed, she had a random genius inspiration flash. Blinking, she turned the light switch on and grabbed the first piece of paper she could find and a pen. Then she wrote her genius plan on the piece of paper. And then she went to bed.

The piece of paper read:

_Kill Adora LaBelle_

Yes, Latisha Aurelia Sparks was a true genius.

* * *

**And that is the first chapter! The form is on my profile, and you can submit up to two tributes (How exciting!). I would like to thank RueThisDay as my beta, and my computer for actually working this time. But yeah, go ahead and submit and do all that awesome stuff! And as a general rule, I will not be doing Reapings but instead small introductions because Reapings are just plain boring and everyone just blurs in your mind eventually.**


	2. Tribute Introduction Part I

Latisha settled back into her favorite, ultra-comfy chair with a bowl of chocolate-cinnamon-ice-cream donuts to watch the Reapings live. What a happy thing to do, even though the Broadcast was a little too early these days—eleven o'clock! Imagine! Dear Snow, no wonder the districts were sometimes so barbaric. Anybody waking up at _eleven o'clock_ **would** be barbaric.

Sigh. The anthem started to play on screen. Various images of different victors in their games flashed by. A head falling off a body. A girl crawling in a snowy terrain. Two boys—no, men—fighting. Lizard-like mutts chasing a half-starved girl. A few kids screaming as a firewall advanced on them.

She loved this stuff. So entertaining, so fascinating, so _magical_.

The commenters appeared, along with a sunny view of District One's beautiful Justice Building.

She loved the Games.

* * *

**District One**

_Reaping_

District One's water fountains needed more work, Allegra Vallis decided solemnly as she stood in line with her friends waiting to get her finger pricked. It was pretty enough, made of white marble, except the marble was chipped and old and the stone angel in the middle looked more like a roundish blob then a stone angel. It was almost poetic—_mighty and graceful, the stone angel falls, with no one to mourn him—_Goodness, she could almost hear the singers of the future serenading her. The Victor-Poetess Allegra Vallis! Allegra mostly just wrote for fun now, but after she won, she'd live in the Capital, with all its beauty and fashion. She'd be the Queen.

"Hey, Ally, did you drift off in that fantastically smart mind of yours?" Leander, her boyfriend of a year-and-half teased. Cynthia, her best friend, laughed.

Allegra shrugged. "Be nice, Leander. This year I'm volunteering. The Academy picked me to volunteer. And you know what will happen if I win—"

The sentence was interrupted by a small, slender little girl about twelve who had almost knocked Leander down as her finger was pricked. A first-time Reaping attendee, most likely, from the scared, freaked-out expression on her face. Her narrow face and darker features indicated her as a mine child. A daughter of the miners, a wench probably named after some type of _NOT! _pretty stone.

Allegra narrowed her eyes. Lower-ranking scum, this was. "Get out of here, you pig. Who gave you the right to nearly knock us down, mine trash?"

The little girl whimpers. She backs away slowly, on the edge of tears. "Look where you're going next time, scumball." Cynthia sneers, joining in. Leander crosses his muscled arms and glares. _Mine children_. Allegra thought, twisting the words into ropes of fury and disdain inside her head. District One stereotypes—dumb blondes, useless pretty boys—sucked, but there was one that was true. Absolutely true. _Mine children, the dirt of the earth, _was completely...correct. Maybe she was a hypocrite for hating District One stereotypes but supporting this one, but Allegra didn't care. Mine children were such filthy animals, so useless and whiny and incapable of any higher-level feelings. Once she won, she'd take her family and friends and live in the Capital.

No mine trash there.

The Peacekeeper pricked her finger. _Allegra Vallis, Age 18. _

_Allegra Vallis, Victor-Poetess, Greatest Victor of Panem,_ was what Allegra saw.

* * *

**District Two**

_Two Years Before_

The brown-haired girl is listening outside the window, though the others don't know. They have forgotten to close it—such a careless, casual mistake, which the girl smirks at. If _they _were really in the Hunger Games...they'd be dead. And she'd be the killer.

She smiles with too much sadism appropriate for that thought. The people inside are the ones that have given her _everything_, from her swordsmanship to her food to her happiness. But she hates dependence—weakness. Not weakness, that would be horrifying. No, she is not dependent. She is merely...preparing for her future. That sounds right, the girl decides.

The head trainers, Balbus, Ameliana, Steele, Florus, Laurentius, and Camilla, along with the Leader of the Academy, Nero Black, are discussing the future tributes for the Games this year. Discussing is not the most accurate word choice, of course—Balbus and Steele are arguing as always, Ameliana is yelling at everybody to shut up and listen to her, because she is the daughter—_for fuck's sake—_of 'freaking awesome' victor Petrolia Stonewift. Florus is half-drunk, as usual, back from a night of partying and prostitutes, and Laurentius and Camilla are 'discreetly' touching each other under the sleek wooden table.

"_Children_, please," Nero says, in a bored tone. All talking, touching, and shouting ceases. Florus manages to blearily open his eyes and makes an attempt to sit up. Balbus and Steele glare at each other before turning to face Nero. Ameliana scowls but copies her fellow trainers' movements.

"We are here to discuss the future of District Two's children," Nero says lightly, as if he has not been preparing teenagers for death every year. "Not to argue, to raise our voices, or any of that." Nero raises an eyebrow. "You are the head trainers, and you have duties. Do any of you have nominations for the 96th Games?"

Silence, for a few seconds. The girl outside the window unconsciously crosses her fingers, even though she has long since abandoned those childish gestures. But everything, the rest of her life, depends on what happens next.

"Well," Camilla says, flicking her gold hair back. "My Nina is ready, I feel. Saturnina Pomponia Regals is not only the daughter of influential businessman Marius Regals but also an extremely pretty young woman. Nina is one of the best knife-throwers I've seen, and I have trained tributes for six years. She's quite good at reading emotions too."

Ameliana glares at Camilla. "Saturnina? Her temper is hotter than hell. She's dumber than your boyfriend over there," Ameliana jabs a finger at Laurentius. "Which is saying something, you know. At least Laurentius has sleep buddy. All the boys here are frickin' scared of Saturnina. I vote no."

Before Camilla or Laurentius could make a move, Steel jumps in. "Lucius. Hands down, he is meant to go in the arena. Don't even argue. You know he is."

There is silence, because Steele is right. Florus shifts awkwardly, trying not to fall off his chair. Nero smiles, amused. "Very well. No objections? I'm putting his name down. Congratulations on training such a promising tribute, Steele. You might just get a pay raise."

Amazingly, Florus starts to speak. "For tha' girl," he slurs, "Mabe' Cocow Wheeee_eeee_?" The last part is because Florus faints and his head falls down onto the table. He starts to snore.

The girl outside the window's pulse quickens. Did he say...?

"I think he means Cocao Whip," Camilla says. Laurentius looks adoringly at her. Ameliana pantomimes throwing up.

"Too young," Balbus objects. "Talented, ruthless, but too young. Give her a few years. Maybe the 98th?"

Nero nods. "Accepted, I'm putting her down for the 98th. I've seen her train a few times, I think. Her aim is near perfect."

"Saturnina, then." Ameliana sighs. "I'd say Livia or maybe Junia, but they're even dumber then Saturnina and both are not as good-looking."

The last part is not heard by the girl outside the window. She is too busy celebrating to think about anything else.

* * *

**District Seven**

_A Year Ago_

Orange hair and freckles. Awkward smiles and wide brown eyes, hopeful at the prospect of a friend. The marks of a Vidori child, four of whom have died in the Games.

Tango. Marc. Nile. Scray.

Dead, dead, dead, and dead.

They were all twelve years old. Male. Bloodbath deaths, except for Nile. _He _didn't even make it _into_ the bloodbath. He jumped off his plate beforehand.

This year the boy's name is Benny. He has orange hair. And freckles. And an awkward smile and brown eyes. He is twelve. He has 10 slips in the bowl. The odds are not in his favor, the people of Seven whisper. The Vidoris are cursed. They will have a child die this year. People who no longer care take bets on his odds, his reaction to being reaped, his parents' reaction. People who still care glance sympathetically at him and his family. Even the principle of the local school turns a blind eye to the spitting contests he holds on the playground. Instead of pretending to throw up and gag whenever Ben picks his nose, the girls who know him look at him and shake their heads.

_He will be reaped_, the rumors say.

On Reaping Day the boys are allowed to hope. They are cocky enough to roll their eyes during the mayor's speech. Some are brave enough to make 'crazy' motions at their escort's bizarre lack of clothing. And a few even daring ones whisper during as the escort reaps the girl tribute.

And then their confidence shatters. It explodes like the volcano during the 88th Games. It is crushed like the skull of the boy from Five, as he tries to defend himself during the 70th Games. It is not Benny Vidori, with his weirdo ways and his tragic family history. It is another boy, a popular, good-looking sixteen-year old who steps forward with a shocked look and a shocked gasp from the crowd. Money exchanges hands. People rant.

_That boy Benny was a useless, disgusting troublemaker, _the principle tells his wife. _I can't believe he's alive, _a girl tells her friend. _He was so gross. Bailey Yew was so much better. _

But no matter what people say, it is not Benny Vidori who dies that year with a bloody red smile like his brothers. It is Bailey Yew, with his good looks and charm that goes down on the third day. His smile is bloody and red, just like Benny's brothers, and _they_ notice. _He shouldn't have died,_ they hiss, glaring at the Vidoris. None of them remember Tango, as he pleaded for his life in the bloodbath. None of them remember Marc and Scray, both killed by the blond-haired beauty from District One. And it is safe to say that they have forgotten Nile, stepping off his pedestal too early with a pleading look in his wide brown eyes. They only remember Bailey Yew, eyes rolled up in his eyes as the desperately hungry boy from Four knocks him unconscious and slits his throat.

And when Benny Vidori is reaped for the 98th, Seven smiles, because Hey, it's not our problem. It's his.

And Bailey Yew Shouldn't. Have. Died.

* * *

**District Five**

_Four Years Ago_

The door to the Kinches' house are closed. The shutters are folded, blocking the looks of curious onlookers. A wreath of black hangs on their door. It indicates death. Death, because Lillian Kinch has died.

Death is not familiar to the ten-year old boy that stares at his grandmother's corpse as they burn it to ashes. Only the very rich can afford to bury their dead in Five, and the Kinches are not among them. They may get by without much tesserae, but burials are too expensive. In all his life Malachi has never seen death before this. He had not yet seen the way light leaves their eyes, slowly at first but then all at once. He has never known that someone's body could be so cold until now. He has never seen death the way other children of Five have, because during the killing parts of the Games his parents cover his eyes.

"You're a brave boy," his grandmother told him as she got colder and colder. "Take care, darlin'. I love you."

He was there when the warmth and light left, going somewhere where even President Snow couldn't control. Malachi has never known that death could be so fast and slow, so peaceful and violent.

After the burial, the Kinches tune in to required viewing on their dinky old television: the 94th Hunger Games. This time, his eyes are not covered.

It's his parents' that are.

* * *

**District One**

_Two Months Ago_

Teal de Fiore defies his name as he turns gray. His wife, Violet, peeking over his shoulder, starts to scream as she sees the letter. Teal storms away, swearing and yelling at the factory overseer.

But the damage has already been done.

The employee that did it is soon fired. He is also dead by now—a little bit of hemlock, slipped into his wine as he partied at a bar, unnoticed till the seizure begins. The whore he is with leaves gratefully, slipping his money into her pockets as she does. By morning he is dead, his corpse burned by the Peacekeepers—it had attracted flies.

Indigo de Fiore does not like death. He also does not like the fact that the said employee had just ruined his family's skin-dye business with a few well-placed chemicals in the Quick'n Clean SuperBlue Smart Dye. Skin dye that does not dye the skin, skin dye that burns instead. A little ten-year old girl had been killed, along with her mother and sister. Indigo does not care for some weird Capitalites—who dyes their skin when they're ten?—but he really, really cares for his family's blue skin dye business.

It's this little fact that propels him toward the stage. The chosen volunteer's name is Tassel something. But the male that mounts the stage's name is Indigo de Fiore.

And he will win.

* * *

**Well, that's done! I still have a whole load of tribute spots waiting to be filled...though the District four female is taken and the three and five females are taken too. I will probably take a few spots myself for the bloodbaths, but there are still PLENTY left. Like, a LOT. So keep submitting, and feel free to drop a review. *wink***


	3. Tribute Introduction Part II

**Hey guys! Here's Part II of the tribute introductions. I still have a lot of spaces to fill- -check out my profile for more. You can also reserve tributes, and anyway, here it goes.**

* * *

**District Five**

_Eight Years Ago_

"Hey! Hey Cali, where are you going?" a dark-haired girl with ashy skin asks, eagerly.

They are sitting in the class—or more accurately, the dark basement of a factory where "school" is being held. The walls are cracked, the desks dirty, and the cobwebs blend seamlessly with the walls. Here is where Panem's Bright Future is being educated—a worn-down basement in a secluded section of Five. Obviously, Panem, their mother, loves them so.

Obviously Not.

Of course, the thought flits from her mind as soon as it appears. Golden Panem, her mother would be so furious if they knew. The Capital is the best. The Capital is the mother, the protector, the shining jewel of Panem. Where only the good, upper-class people went. Upper-class people like she.

Seven year old Calisto Romano brushes her scraggly brown hair out of her face. "I don't know," she says. "I think they're going to take me to meet Argon. They want me to be a maid, I think." She casts her eyes down. Oh why, why can't she just blend in to the walls?

"Argon? The victor? They're gonna take you out to be a maid?" a chipped tooth boy asks, shocked. "So yaw get outta school ta work?"

Cali shrugs. "I guess, I mean, they want to get a house. In the Capital."

Silence. Then laughter. The teacher does nothing, Mrs. Brunn, is too tired and almost always asleep. "Ooo, Cali has big, big, big dreams!" A girl guffaws. Another girl, this one with blond hair and bright green eyes, a rarity among the Five people, giggles. "You think you're so much better than us? How cute. You're never going to be. Your parents are FOOLS! Big, big, big FOOLS! The Capital hates us."

Mrs. Brunn's eyes snap open. "Constance! Take that back! The, the Capital, they, they loves us! They, are, our, err, protectors!" Her voice is reedy and high, shrill and unconvincing. Nobody, least of all Mrs. Brunn, who works nineteen hours a day, believes that.

And the Mr. and Mrs. Romano walk in at that moment. The class falls silent immediately. Mrs. Romano softly says to the teacher, "I do not think Calisto will be here for very longer. We have found her a job as a maid." Mr. Romano walks Cali out the door. A few children seem to sink down in their seats as the Romanos walk by.

/X\

Outside, in the smog-filled air of 5, Cali asks a question: "Am I really going to Argon's to work as a maid?"

Mr. Romano's eyes widen with shock. "H-how are we going to get any extra cash, you useless wench?" He stammers, angrily. Mrs. Romano snarls at the question. "Children should be seen, not heard, and that applies to you, Calisto Romano. Understand? I want no more words coming out of that mouth of yours."

"Yes, Mother."

The sounds of a slap fill the air.

* * *

**District Eleven**

_Two years ago_

"Who did he trip _again_?"

"Well, apparently he was trying to show off to Yvonne Daisyson. He tripped her brother. Poor kid's arm is broken, screamed 24/7, Peacekeepers finally put him down. Heard from Acacia Willow that Yvonne was demoted to field work to keep her mind off of him."

"Dear Snow. What a clumsy fool that Bonk Thorner is."

Pala Ammoule listens intently. Being crippled, she was nearly killed in an 'accident' when she was six, but then she discovered beading. Intricate, gorgeous designs, the beadings were. They were taken to be sold in the Capital, through the Capital Liaison. That's what she's doing now. She might not get the best deals, but at least now she has a decently sized shack in a relatively decent part of the district. And they keep her supplied with beads and thread, she doesn't even have to spend money to buy them. Just last week she saved up and bought a cot to sleep on.

"Hey look, its Beady! Pretty, pretty Beady! Hey, Beady, think you can make me somethin' to give to my sweetie?" One of the workers catcall.

The Capital Liaison glares. "Get back to work, scum!" he snaps. Pala grimaces. She hates the Liaison, but its not like she has a choice. One's got to live, after all.

"Sir, Mr. Augustine, the next job requires somebody tall. May we borrow Brent Thorner?"

"Well go get him then! I don't have all day, you idiot!"

So. His real name is Brent. She's heard of him and seen him, from a distance, and he's extraordinarily tall. And he's only fourteen. Nobody knows what he has, in the doctor-impoverished District Eleven, but the rumor is that he's been growing since he's nine. Incredibly clumsy, Bonk, as the district called him, was one of the only sources of entertainment. After all, singing old field songs that everybody's heard a million times gets boring after a while.

Pala finishes trading around noon. Sitting in the shade, Pala finishes off her lunch, a cup of bland, plain oatmeal and a roll of District Eleven bread, and beads under the tree. In theory, she should leave, but she's curious about this Bonk person. Nobody bothers her. Around an hour later, Bonk arrives.

He's huge. Tall huge. Surprisingly skinny, with dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin. Pala dusts off the dust from her pants and walks up to him.

"Hello." Pala says quietly. Bonk nearly falls down, at the shock. His eyes are wide with shock.

"Oh, um, hello, I'm Bonk, you're, um, never mind, whatsyourname?"

So he was awkward around girls, Pala noted. Surprising.

She grinned up at him. "Hello Bonk. I'm Pala."

And just like that, friendships happen.

* * *

_**District Two** _

_the Reaping_

Cona Shinx is the volunteer this year. His mother, Mayor Shinx, goes out and buys him an expensive silk suit specially imported from the factories from Eight. It costs enough to feed the local Community Home for two weeks. Mayor Shinx buys it not because she's proud of her son, or she likes him, but because he's going to the Capital, and he needs to make the Shinx family proud. She won't have him wearing any other boring, plain old suit!

Such parental pressure, but Cona was a big fan of the Games. And torture. In general, he was nice to everybody and had a likable vibe around him, but he made his exceptions.

He made sure not to fidget as the escort, Livia Heliotrope, read out the speech about district honor and dying for a greater cause. He didn't listen. His father had made him memorize it when he was 6, and Cona saw no need to listen to her read the same thing, even if she was a Capitalite. His father was too obsessed with the Capital, sometimes. Not that his victor-daddy appreciated his opinion. Cona hadn't been able to sleep on his back for a week (literally) afterwards.

He twirled the bracelet around his hand as Lidia reached her hand into the bowl and drew out a piece of paper. The bracelet was bronze, with the words _Champions Win _engraved. The family motto.

"Lupa Black!"

A mildly annoyed looking girl with dark brown hair made her way up the stairs. "Any volunteers?" Livia asked cheerfully, her full, big, blue lips stretched across her powder-white face.

"I volunteer!" Someone shouts. Cona glimpses a flash of brown and blue and then there's a girl on stage. She looks vaguely familiar, but that's not what takes his breath away. The volunteer is beautiful, gorgeous, whatever you want to call it. Lovely.

"My name is Cocoa Whipp," the girl says. Her long, wavy brown hair tumbles down her back. She's from the academy, Cona remembers. Girls and boys, though, are trained separately, so he's never talked to her.

"Soren Steelton!"

His hand shoots up on his own accord and a smile is on is his face, faster than most can blink. "I volunteer," and his voice sounds booming, loud, honorable, memorable. And then his feet are carrying him forward. Cona beams at Livia and Cocoa. "I'm Cona Shinx." He announces.

Most kids would've felt quite awkward with their mom _and_ dad onstage. But Cona wasn't most kids. And he knew it.

If only he could get his district partner out of his head.

* * *

**_This is a really, really short chapter, I know, probably not worth the really long wait. But I had to, you know? School is a total female dog. _**


	4. The Sinister Plot Plays Out

**So...I guess I have to apologize for the late update :(**

* * *

Adora LaBelle was excited. She was attending a party. A party hosted by Decimus Pollux, to be exact.

_SQUEEEALLLLLLLl!  
_

Decimus was the most famed escort in escort history. In sixty-two years of escorting, he had escorted fifteen victors to victory. Tonight, he was hosting a party for his recently desceased cat's sixth half-birthday.

What a grand, monumentous occasion! Adora had worn her new perfume and dyed her hair black and white in honor of poor Mr. Tabby Pollux. Her nails matched the occasion perfectly. As the new escort of district two, she knew she had to simply _be_ fashion. Adora would be a trendsetter, a socialite. She would be amazing! Adora would go down in history.

Alas for Adora, Latisha Spark had different ideas. One that included a knife and sparkles.

Because no murder would be complete with sparkles.

* * *

Latisha had managed to score an invitation to the Pollux Party, even though she had been recently...released from her job. There, that sounded much better than fired. Fired was such an ugly, hurtful word.

She was wearing her latest outfit. A black, ninja like suit based on the arena outfit from last year's Games, though the suit was sparkly and showed more skin than needed when killing. After all, if she was going to kill someone, Latisha figured, she might as well look sexy doing it. Like Jade Penhallow from District One, battling with her long knives. Or Finnick Odair, brandishing his trident.

She had hung up her hair in a ponytail, and Latisha imagined herself as the perfect picture of elegance and deadliness. She said Hi to her friends, and then,

_She saw Adora LaBelle!_

* * *

Adora was near the champagne table, chugging back a bottle, draped over a man with red hair and gold talons. She didn't know his name, but he was hot. And red was so _trending,_ for guys.

He bent down and whispered something in her ear. Adora didn't quite catch it, but she nodded and giggled anyway. "That's so dazz," She said, for good measure.

The guy laughed, and then dropped her. Adora blinked and scrambled up, only to find out that the redhead had vanished. She did see, though, a woman in an outfit resembling the arena outfit from last year, though it was more tasteful and _wayyyyy_ more dazz.

"I'm Latisha," The woman said. She looked at Adora the way someone might look at a dead mouse. Adora frowned. Was her hair wrong? Or did her perfume not smell strongly enough? Maybe she shouldn't have put on that lipstick...she had had doubts in the first place...

"So, you are Adora LaBelle, yeah?" The woman, Latisha, continued.

Adora beamed. This was wayyyy kewl. She was becoming a celebrity! "Oh yeah!" Adora chirped. "Nice to meet you, Latisha. I'm the escort for District Two."

Latisha winced, as if Adora had said something offending. Again, Adora wondered. Did she do something? She knew her words were a little slurred, but everybody's words were. Champagne was just that kewl. Maybe her perfume was too strong or something. Yeah, that had to be it. She was sooo going to return it, afterwards.

"Oh, I was just wondering, you see, I have thing problem...well, anyway, can you come over here, for a sec?" Without asking for permission, Latisha grabbed Adora's wrist and pulled her toward the direction of the suit rooms.

Suit rooms were lovely grand rooms in every respectable hard-core party Capitalite's house. They were intended for couples who needed privacy. The walls were specially soundproof. Not that anyone would ever be able to hear anything over the music usually playing.

"Why are we going there?" Adora asked, curiously. The alcohol in her drink was staring to set in, and she stumbled a few times. Latisha nodded toward an avox, and pulled Adora into the spacious suit room.

Something flashed at the corner of her eye, and then, without warning, a cloud of glitter sparkles were being thrown in her eyes. Adora shrieked in shock, blinking frantically. Latisha's face was drawn into a snarl, and a sharp, new-looking knife glinted in her right hand. A jar of sparkles glinted in her other.

Adora blinked again, and then there were suddenly more sparkles in her eyes. They hurt. And then she felt a stabbing pain in her arm, like someone had poked a hole and poured acid all over.

Adora shrieked, but no one heard. She was starting to black out, she realized, and she trashed frantically. She heard Latisha grunt, and then it felt like her chest was being torn open. Adora whimpered frantically, and black spots filled her vision. Her head pounded.

"No, no, no," She mumbled, but then Latisha slashed her surgically-enhanced lips, and she could say no more.

* * *

Latisha hoped no one noticed her leaving the party with red on the front of her suit. The knife was stuck securely inside her pockets. She had shoved Adora's bloody body behind a huge, lush emperor sized bed. She hoped no one would find it. She had told the avox not to let anyone in.

Then she got the hell out of there.

* * *

**And that concludes what happened at the party. Do you feel sorry for Adora? Or do you feel like she deserved it? Review!**


	5. Tribute Introduction Part III

**Lol, I haven't updated since last year. XD.**

**News: So now we have 12 tributes, two reservations, and 14 reviews! Thanks guys :) Keep it going. **

**For the missing tributes-should I just leave some as nameless, for you know, bloodbath kills? So I don't hurt anybody's feelings? Please tell me, thanks. :)**

* * *

**District Eleven**

_Reaping_

Hunger Games wise, District Eleven sucked butt. Their tributes were usually rather young, scrawny, and unappealing to the Capital. In 98 years, Eleven had had exactly five victors. Three were dead (Chaff and Seeder because of the Quarter Quell), one was usually drunk, and another one thought she was a cow and could often be spotted eating grass in the orchards.

Occasionally, a strong, tall, older, relatively attractive boy or girl would be reaped. Not often, and they mostly ended up as bloodbath kills, because mentors who think they are cows tend to not give good advice.

Volunteers were extinct, and so was hope.

This year's girl/corpse was an eighteen year old girl named Auralee Mason who was visibly trembling as she stumbled onto the platform on her skinny legs. Not terribly ugly, luckily, and she had pretty blue eyes. She was average height, didn't look like she would go down quietly, and was basically, canon fodder.

"Looks better than the average District Eleven girl, does she?" One of the commenters remarked. "Looks tough, but to be perfectly honest, your money would be better off on another tribute. Maybe the lovely lady from one?"

"Any volunteers?" The bored looking escort called out on screen. "No? Okay! Let's move onto the—"

"What was that?" The other commenter said, surprised. "No, play it again, Lucas!"

The video replays. A pretty tan girl sprints out.

The camera zooms in on her lips as she yells out,

"_I Volunteer as tribute!"_

* * *

**District Four**

_The day before the Reaping_

Compared to other trainees, yes, Donielle (Not Danielle!) did not show up for training often. The minimum required times were 25 a month. Donielle did _exactly_ 24\. No matter what the trainers said, she refused to show up for that one extra day. None of the other trainees could figure it out, but somehow Donielle never got disqualified.

It was nothing personal, but most of the other trainees didn't like her. They thought it was unfair that Donielle would show up only 24 times a month and still be three times better than all of them. She was a wild kid, and did _whatever_ she wanted, and somehow got away with it.

This resulted in a lot of bullying. Not physical, because Donielle could probably twist them all into a pretzel with one hand tied behind her back, but emotional. The type that makes teenage girls insecure. And then the other kids gathered around the ringleader, and totally ditched Donielle.

Donielle always thought she was better than Ari Adlington. Unfortunately, it soon became evident that not only her fellow trainees thought Ari Adlington was better, so did the Trainers. So the Chosen Tribute was Ari Adlington, who was yes, very pretty, and very talented with a bow, but was mean and vicious and the type of girl that underestimated everybody.

It was not a good idea to underestimate Donielle, a thing the tributes soon learned, but Ari Adlington learned it first.

Donielle wanted to be the volunteer. Ari _was._ And so, Donielle took a few long knives, her sister Marey (who was also a target of Ari's), and cornered Ari in the alleys a day before the Reaping.

To be fairly honest, the kill was rather disappointing. Ari's weapon was a bow, and she after all, could not carry around a bow and arrows in broad daylight. Ari was also rather unsuspecting, and seemed to think that bribery was the best personal defense. She forgot how to fight back, and Donielle and Marey were uninterested in Ari's ludacris offers. Marey held Ari's hands and feet down, and Donielle stabbed her, again and again, letting out four years worth of anger and rejection, and in the end Ari was nothing more than a bloody human shaped hunk of flesh.

Obviously, she didn't show up at the Reaping. And before anybody could figure out what happened, Donielle Croydon was on the stage.

* * *

**District Nine**

_Reaping_

**_There were two dragons, like the ones in the Fifty-Fifth Games. Their scaled hides gleamed in the dawn sunlight, their teeth snow white. The scales were very rough, though Zestoka didn't mind. Neither did Kilal. Kilal sat on the dragon next to Zestoka's. Her dragon was the color of wheat and oats. Zestoka's was emerald green, though Zestoka had never seen an emerald. She just figured the dragon's hide could be described as that._**

**_A fume of fire bloomed from her dragon's snout. She would call it Bladen, Zestoka decided. And it was a male dragon. On cue, the daydream transformed, and the dragon's hide became smoother, the body longer. Bladen dove forward, Zestoka clutching on, laughing._**

"I'm nervous, Zestoka." Kilal said, shivering, grabbing hard onto Zestoka's arm. Zestoka, busy daydreaming, did not hear.

_**The dragon ascended, onto a wide, open plain, like the ones in District Nine. Kilal whooped, her long blond hair streaming behind her. Grain flattened as the dragons landed. Bladen flapped her magnificent wings. Zestoka crouched down, digging in the dirt. Her tan muscles flexed as a hole appeared. Something glimmered in the hole. Zestoka reached down and pulled it out.**_

The escort on stage was also pulling something out. A slip of paper from the girls' bowl. His clawed hands reached in, and plucked up a folded piece of paper. He dropped it, and his hands skimmed the papers. The girls of Nine were all holding their breath. A few girls clutched each other, eyes wide with panic and fear and suspense.

_**Zestoka held a gold necklace in her hands. It gleamed. The design was twisted and intricate. Perhaps she could sell it, in the future.**_

"Zestoka Crimson!" The escort squeaked. Kilal gave a low gasp, and squeaked, shaking Zestoka hard.

Zestoka blinked, interrupted out of her daydream. "Kilal, what?"

"You, you, you've been...reaped." Kilal sobbed, gasping, and all the air was sucked from Zestoka's lungs.


	6. Tribute Introduction Part IV

**Hello everybody! The SYOT is officially closed. I have three, I think, who are simply Bloodbaths. And Here is chapter six :) In case people are wondering, I usually update about once a month.**

* * *

**District Six**

_Six years ago_

"Happy Birthday to you...Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Aurora...Happy tenth birthday to you!"

Cheering. There was a lot, since Aurora was quiet popular and there were at least twenty five others in the mansion. Several girls giggled loudly. There was an actual birthday cake, and Johnathan Weiss's mouth watered. It was his birthday too. He was Aurora's twin, even though he looked nothing like her. He just refused to accept the cake. It had been his decision, ever since he was eight. If he was going to be rich and famous, it wasn't off his very rich parents' money. Johnathan was going to volunteer and win the Hunger Games, when he was eighteen.

If he could ever throw this knife right, of course. A Peacekeeper had once shown him out to hold a knife. But Johnathan just couldn't figure out how to throw it accurately. It was very stupid. Fucking annoying.

"You can open presents now!" His mother said, gliding forward, smiling. His mother looked like Aurora, with her wavy golden hair and thin red lips. They could both pass as District One people, with their looks and their beautiful green eyes. Johnathan looked like nobody. He had messy dark hair and blue eyes.

Who the hell cared.

One of the girls, a high-pitched one that reminded him of a mouse, squealed. Definitely a mouse. Fucking Snow's beard, his ear drums were going to be _murdered_ by this girl.

"Ohmipanem! Open mine first! Me! Pleaseeeee?" The girl shrieked at the top of her lungs. Did she understand_ indoor voice? _

"Sure!" Aurora beamed. "Of course. But first..."

"First what?" The mouse-human whined. "C'mon, what?"

Aurora took a deep breath. Her green eyes seemed especially bright. Oh no, oh no, please no...

"It's my twin brother's birthday too! Everybody, say happy birthday to Johnathan!" Quicker than Johnathan could register, Aurora darted forward and dragged him from the shadows. She was giggling. Damn it, how could his little sister over power him? Good hell...

"Happy birthday to Johnathan, happy birthday to Johnathan..." The song trailed off, everybody looking uncomfortable except for Aurora. Most of the people didn't know him. Shit, Johnathan doubted they had even known Aurora had a twin. Screw them. He hoped they would rot in hell.

"Thanks," He muttered to her. A quick hug. It was very awkward. "Happy birthday." He said quietly, and then Johnathan slipped back into the shadows.

But that was okay. He liked the shadows. For now.

* * *

**District Eight**

_One year ago_

It was a simple game. Capture the Flag. The game was not complex and was often played by primary school children during recess. Six players. Four were Capitalites, two were rebels. The rebels held the flag. The Capitalites would try and get the flag.

By unspoken rule, the children playing as rebels were always the fastest and the cleverest. Eleven year old Keena Rosenburg was not one of them, though her reflexes were pretty decent.

"Okay, guys, let's have Connie and Lacy be the rebels," Tia Rosenburg hollered. "And I'll be referee! Keena, Lou, Prada, and Alyce, you guys can be the Capitalites!" Tia was Keena's cousin, a loud girl with the same tangled brown hair and brown eyes Keena had. Tia handed a scrap of dirty cloth to Connie, a rather mean blond girl who was absurdly fast.

"What?" Keena hollered back, digging in her ear. She had always been a little hard of hearing. "What did ya say?"

"You, me, Lou, and Alyce are going to be the Capitalites," Prada informed her. "Oh, and please don't pick ya ear, it's kinda gross." Keena glared at Prada. "I'll do what I wan'!" Keena snapped, glowering. "Prick. Leave me alone!"

"Why does Keena have to be on our team? She's so mean." Lou whined. Lou was a pretty, dark haired girl who was also Prada's best friend. She crossed her arms. "I don' wan' her on my team!"

Tia hesitated, combing her fingers through her scraggly hair. "Yo, Keena, let's calm down, how abou' that? Everybody, no need to be rude, gosh. One, two, three..." She puckered her lips and blew loudly, a whistle. "GAME BEGINS!"

Connie and Lacy took off, bounding away, Connie waving the dirty scrap of cloth in the air, teasing. "C'mon!" Alyce called, racing after them. She tripped, and landed face forward in the dirt. "Omigosh, are ya okay?" Prada asked, concerned, bending down to help Alyce up.

Keena laughed loudly. "Useless!" She ran off after Connie and Lacy, who were at the edge of the playground now. Lou growled and raced after Keena, shaking her head. "Bitch," She muttered to herself. Behind her, she could hear Tia loudly whistling and Alyce crying. She ran forward again.

Ten minutes later, the game was over. Connie and Lacy trudged back, smirking, high-fiving. Keena trailed behind them, panting and arguing with a red-faced Lou loudly. "It wasn' ma fault, you idiot!" (breathe) "I ain't tripped like Alyce did! I ain't slow like you!" (breathe)

Lou was furious, and it was evident in the way her smooth, pale skin was redding bit by bit. She tossed her dark hair behind her and jabbed a finger at Tia's insolent, insufferable cousin. "Listen up, bitch! Ya either leave righ' now, or I'll slap ya to District One!" Before, Lou had only tolerated annoying, rude, lazy Keena because Tia was her friend. But today had been the last straw. She glowered angrily at Keena. "Leave!"

Connie and Lacy clapped as Keena glowered back. "Fight, fight, fight!"

Keena's breathing had luckily slowed down. "Bitch, I ain't leavin', I'm gonna stay. I like this place, I ain't gonna leave! Make me!"

"Fight, fight, fight!"

"Guys, calm down!" Tia yelled, panicking. The words had barely left her mouth when Lou attempted to slug Keena in the face. Attempted because Keena dodged, brown hair whipping Lou in the face. Lou screamed. Keena punched her in the face, breaking her long, lovely nose. Lou's face was not so pretty anymore, with a broken nose and blood everywhere and her dark tresses tangled all over her face.

Keena kicked Lou in the shins, for good measure, and then bounded off. "Keena! Keena, come back and apologize!" Tia yelled. Lou lay on the ground, sobbing. Connie and Lacy were grinning widely.

"The feck was that for?" Tia snapped at Connie and Lacy. "Someone, go get a teacher or somethin'! Quick!"

And that was why not many people liked Keena Rosenburg.

* * *

**District Seven**

_A year ago_

Fallon Lowell was twelve when it happened. She was back from an exhausting four hour shift of sharpening hundreds of pencils, which at least payed an okay amount. Three coins an hour. Twelve coins in all, enough to maybe buy four small rolls of Seven bread. Terrible. She knew she should have bargained more when the overseer had asked her how much she wanted.

Then again, if she had been smarter, she wouldn't have even had to work that terrible shift. Except she wasn't smarter.

It was about nine o'clock. Curfew was at ten, unless you worked a night shift. Fallon debated going the regular way home, except that was slower and besides, they were paving the road. She decided to take the shortcut, through Three Leaves alley. Sure, it was dangerous. On the other hand, it wasn't like life could suck even more. So she went.

Like all alleys, it was dark and a little damp. There was trash everywhere. Ahead, she saw a two tough looking men exit a brothel, arguing drunkenly. Fallon hid behind a trash can, waiting for them to pass. She _knew _she was going to be soooo late. Apparently life could really suck more.

But they didn't pass. They argued, louder and louder. Fallon winced. What were they going to do? Apparently, they were arguing over the prostitutes. Man #1, who's name was John, or something, thought his was prettier. #2, A scarred man name Lindon, thought _his_ was sexier. It seemed like the stupidest argument of all time. Fallon hoped that they would pass. Soon.

And then John took out a knife. He said a couple of really, really bad words, and Fallon muffled her ears. She should've covered her eyes. She watched in horror as John brutally stabbed Lindon to death. His blood was dark and red. They were both yelling a lot. Fallon tried not to scream and gag at the sight. When Lindon was dead, John dug his fingers into the corpse's pockets. Fallon saw the glint of coins. John laughed madly, and then he was gone, running off into the night.

Fallon sat there, for ten long minutes, trying to process what she had seen. Dear lord of Panem.

She sprinted home, trying not to throw up. Fallon had never run so fast in her whole life.

* * *

**Anybody have any good SYOTs I can submit too? Remember, review, follow, and fav. :)**


	7. After The Murder

**Hi guys! Sorry for all the delays, for all the support! I know you all want to hear about the tributes and I promise you, you will get that in the next chapter. :)**

* * *

Latisha's massive window-television-phone-wall blared to life at 10:23. Of course, Latisha didn't notice. She was buried in her fluffy pink sparkly Queen-sized bed, snoring.

Silver-eyed, artificially-dyed golden haired, copper-taloned Fabia Leonard popped onto the screen. She fluffed her fake-golden hair several times, cleared her throat, and tapped her copper talons on the wall next to her. "Ah-hem..."

Latisha snuggled deeper into her bed and snored.

Fabia cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed. "LATISHA! WAKE UP!"

"Go away," Latisha mumbled and somehow snuggled even deeper into her fluffy pink quilts. "It's too early..."

"Latisha! You must wake!" The District Four escort tried again, stamping her foot.

"No." She rolled over.

"Latisha, I have gossip..."

As fast as the slice of a knife, Latisha popped up. "Eff you, I'm awake! Just let me get dressed!" Latisha's curly pink hair resembled a jabberjay's nest and with out her contacts and fake eyelashes, her eyes were small and a dull blue color. She was wearing neon yellow duck pajamas.

"Sexy jammies," Fabia snickered, her fashionable but really creepy silver eyes wide. "Change, quick, and then, like, call me back! You won't _be-lieve_ what happened!"

The screen shut off temporarily and Latisha sighed. She had a massive headache, thanks to the champagne from Decimus's party. Digging around in her diamond-embedded cabinet, Latisha swallowed a few hangover-relief pills. She popped in her bright green contacts, and applied her signature strawberry-scented lotion. Latisha tapped glitter eyeshadow around her eyes and attached her feathery fake eyelashes. She had started to apply her pink concealer when something poked her skinny thighs.

Latisha shifted and blinked. In a few strokes, she finished the concealer job. She started to dig through her fluffy pink quilts. A glint of silver, and Latisha picked up the offending object. It was a short but sharp knife, and the tip was covered in dark, dried blood.

"Eek!" Latisha squealed. Why did she have a knife? Oh, this was so exciting, kind of like the Hunger Games. Her life was picking up since she had been removed from her job! Latisha looked around. Was there a sexy hot dazz kewl murderer somewhere? Maybe he would fall in love with her, even if she was 22!

Okay, 28.

36.

Fine, 52.

Instead of a sexy hot dazz kewl murderer, Latisha saw the usual furniture, and a piece of torn, flimsy black cloth that resembled the arena outfit from last year's Games. She squinted and rolled out of her bed and headed toward offending cloth. It literally killed the entire mood and tone of her fabulous, dazz room. Black did not go hand-in-hand with her super-kewl pastel colored bedroom!

It smelled like champagne and really cheap, horrible perfume. It also smelled like something metallic, which Latisha could not place. She flipped it over. The front of the cloth was crusted in something dark and sparkles. It reeked of that strange metallic smell. Latisha poked it with her hot pink fingernails. The stuff came off and Latisha shrieked.

She hadn't ever seen it in such big quantities in real life, but it was pretty obvious, from decades of Games. Blood. A huge dried spot of blood. But why? It wasn't like Latisha was some murderer or, or—

AHHH SQUEAL SHE WAS OH OH SHE WAS LIKE FINNICK ODAIR SHE HAD MURDERED SOMEONE OH SHE WAS A DISTRICT BARBARIAN

It had been Adora LaBelle she had murdered, right? Latisha racked her brain. Yup. Adora. Latisha could remember bits and pieces from last night. The sparkles in the other woman's eyes. The nasty hacking. Oh well, the girl deserved it, stupid fashion-less idiot. But what about her? Would someone find out? Was she really evil?

Latisha searched her heart. She felt kind of bad. She had ruined her nails while holding Adora down. That was bad. But mostly she felt thrilled. Something exciting and dazz had happened!

Well. She better clean it up, all of it. It would ruin the whole thing if she was caught!

* * *

"Oh my gosh, how long does it take for you to get dressed?" Fabia hissed in her very Capitalite accent. "That took for-evah! But anyway..." Fabia waggled her thick, hairy, ruby red eyebrows. "I have the most ah-mazing gossip! You won't even believe!" She squealed loudly.

"What is it?" Latisha asked, trying to ignore her thudding heart. Was it about Adora? "What is this unbelievable gossip? I bet it's not even that good..." She teased.

Fabia gasped and huffed. "So. I know you were fired, right?"

"Don't remind me," Latisha snapped.

"So rude!" Fabia sniffed. "Anyway, it was horrible. Adora LaBelle is so incompetent! There was a big mix up with the tribute form papers, but her father covered it up for her. She's so spoiled, and thinks she has the bestest fashion! Oh my goodness, no. No way! Her nails are soooo out! And her hair is horrendous, who actually gets it dyed at the Emerald Salon?" She blabbed. "What a stupid, dumb girl!"

"And?" Latisha sighed, rolling her eyes. Fabia was so overly dramatic. "What about her? Yes, I know, she is so stupid. And her..." Latisha thought of the cheap perfume she had found on the black cloth. "Perfume smells so cheap. Where did she get it, District Eight?"

Fabia shook her head in distress. "Yes, I know. Silly. But oh, she was..." She lowered her voice dramatically. "I do not like her! But oh, oh...the horror!"

Yup. Totally about Adora being murdered.

"She was murdered!" Fabia shrieked, clutching her overly tattooed chest. "Oh, that young, stupid, immature girl! She was murdered, and found with stab wounds all ovah!"

"Oh no!" Latisha tried her best to sound worried and sad and horrified. "Who would so such a thing?"

"That is the point." Fabia sighed. "She was found at Decimus Pollux's party, in one of the private rooms. The Peacekeepers think she was murdered by an angry, rejected, unhappy lover. The avoxes wouldn't tell them anything. Damn rebels. She was found with sparkles, too. They traced the sparkles to SparkleLand Retail. Oh, poor child!"

Oh damn. They found out where she had brought the sparkles. Latisha squealed. "That is horrifying! I just can't imagine. But what about the escorting?"

Fabia smiled a shark's grin. It really worked, too, considering her teeth were sharpened to a fine point. "Congratulations, Latisha. You are now the new escort! It will be so wonderful to be able to talk to you again! Reapings are next week, we can chat about the fine, fine tributes we will have!" Fabia winked. "Oh, I am so excited! So dazz, oh my gosh!"

Latisha shook her head in pretend disbelief. "Are you sure? Poor Adora!"

"I am sure!" Fabia squealed. "I am super sure! You have the job! Oh. My. Gosh!" She clapped her hands excitedly.

Latisha clapped her hands excitedly too. This was worth being excited over! "Oh my gosh Fabia, thank you for telling me! You're the bestest! Eek!"

* * *

Latisha called her mother.


	8. Tribute Introduction V

**Without farther ado... the next characters...**

* * *

**District Twelve**

_Before the Reaping_

"Ya know," the ashy skinned brunette girl began, "I know she 'eems stuck up, but ya'should give Allice Armstrong her bracelet back. I mean, did'ya see how upset she was?"

Said bracelet was solid gold with elegant, twisting designs, a thin band now decorating Bobo Brass's skinny wrist. If she sold it, it could feed her and her best friend for...maybe a year. But Bobo liked it. It was pretty, and darn she needed something pretty in her miserable life.

"Shaddup, Kayd. I ain't givin' it back. 'Sides, she don't need it. But I do." Bobo snapped. And perhaps it was true. Up ahead, golden hair twisted in an elegant bun and dressed in an expensive looking lacy pink dress, Allice Armstrong was the picture of _Rich Girl. _Or as Rich Girl as you could get in the coal-dusted covered, beaten down District Twelve.

Thirteen year old orphans Bobo Brass and Kayd Smithy on the other hand, were entirely different pictures. The two girls were all pockmarked, dry skin and bones, all knees and elbows and ashy cheeks. Dirty, scruffy dark hair that had never seen shampoo and cracked, chapped lips. A clean-ish white t-shirt tied around the waist with a black ribbon hung off Bobo's flat chest, long enough to pass for a dress. Kayd had actually taken care to wash her hair and comb it (it had rained two days ago), and had even tried to scrub her cheeks (it didn't work).

"But Bobo," Kayd tried to reason. "Itsa, Itsa...moral thingy. Ya'gotta, ya know, do the right thingy."

"I'll do the righ' thing when I can feed maself for a week. Without tesserae. Or stealin'." She said year she had six slips. So did Kayd. But Allice Armstrong and her giggly goons, on the other hand, had two.

Kayd winced, because it was true. Bobo was kleptomaniac. Actually, even the t-shirt she was currently wearing was stolen. Bobo had snatched it off the clothes line of some merchant. She herself had gotton the shoes she now wore off of some merchant's doorsteps. It wasn't like the merchant would miss it, anyway.

"We could always be beggin'," Kayd said softly. The two girls had both ran away from the orphanage two years ago. They slept on the streets.

"Hell no," Bobo spat. "It ain't like anybody goin' around sparin' some coins."

Up ahead, Allice Armstrong was saying in a shrill, annoying voice, combing rose-petal soft fingers through her tangly golden hair, "My father even bought me a strawberry cake to make up for the bracelet! He said it ain't my fault so dirty, scrawny, stupid little thief stole my bracelet."

"Of course it ain't!" Second-in-command Lisbet Levy was quick to agree, head bobbing up and down unnaturally fast. "It's the dirty little scumball that stole it, that's whose fault it is!"

"Yeah, yes." Allice said. "My father says, if he ever catches that sneaky little bitch, he'll have the dirtbag whipped."

Her voice really was quite loud, and annoying, Bobo decided, ignoring Kayd's frantic head shaking.

"Uh huh," Allice continued saying. "Then he said-" But whatever Allice's father ended up saying, nobody found out. At that moment, her lacy dress fell off her shoulders, the zipper having mysteriously disappeared. She screamed and covered her chest, Lisbet and the rest of her girl goons screaming with her. "Oh my gosh! Ah!"

Peacekeepers converged upon the screaming girls, and both Kayd and Bobo snickered as they ran off, having already had their fingers pricked.

"Well, tha' sure waws funny," Bobo smirked, opening her hand.

In her palm, there rested a shiny silver zipper.

* * *

**District Three**

_Two years ago_

Fifteen year old Masia Kalen tried. She did. She really did. She tried as hard as she could to keep her eyes away from Polychroma Li's perky butt.

Polychroma's pencil rolled off her desk. The dark haired girl bent down to pick it up and...

Masia closed her eyes, effectively distracted from the complicated looking mathematical diagram sheet on her desk. She didn't even know why she was, like, attracted to Polychroma's butt. Okay, that sounded stupid. Polychroma wasn't even that pretty (she had acne), but Masia really wanted to touch her butt, which was weird and kinda gross. No doubt her sister Estie would say something like, 'Go for it, girl!' But then again Estie was always saying weird, mysterious, random things like that. Just last week she had said that she wanted to 'Murder the entire fucking Capitol and burn their dumbass corpses.'

She tried to shut her mind down and focus on the problem below: _f(θ)=100(A2B3−A3B2)2−(c1B3−c2B2)2−(c2A2−c1A3)2=?_

Her mind drifted, and Masia thought of what happened once school was out, and she was freed from the mean, catty girls and the cramped desks and bleak walls at her all-girl school.

_Sailing._

Just thinking about it, sailing in the harbor near the coast where the rivers powered Three's massive generators, made her toes curl and made her want to like, squeal with joy. She would go sailing, feeling the salty wind blow through her short-ish, shiny black hair and smell the scent of the ocean and talk with all her friends. Gadge, Wireton, Keys, Jorn, and the only female member of the crew that manned her father's small yacht, Pixelle.

Keys was kinda cute, with his shaggy brown hair and tan skin and thin, slanted eyes. Okay, he was really cute, at least according to Pixelle, who liked him too. After all, Masia liked him...had a crush on him...right?

Seriously. She liked him. He was really cute.

_Almost as cute as Polychroma Li's perky butt, _her mind whispered.

She really need to think of something else. Masia attempted to solve the problem on her sheet, scribbling a few numbers and letters out, but quickly gave up. The brunette girl thought of the whitewashed, clean decks of _her_ ship, sparring with sticks with Wireton and Keys (her heart lurched), the rocking of the boat...

It was hopeless. She was screwed. The math worksheet was screwed. All she wanted to do was sail and swim. It was really expensive (_duh_) but her great aunt had died when she was six and left her parents this _hugeeeeee _inheritance and everything. So now her family was rich, which meant that her and Estie and Steph (her other sister) got to go to this expensive female-only school. Steph fitted in fine, being mature for her eleven years, but Masia blended in with the bleak walls, which was kinda offending, considering her hair was black and her eyes brown. And her skin wasn't like, porcelain or whatever.

But then again she was shy.

Polychroma dropped her pencil _again_, and Masia closed her eyes. She tried to get the image of Polychroma's butt out of her mind.

She really did try.

_Ugh._

* * *

**District Three**

_The Day Before the Reaping_

Seventeen year old Techno Hurst was not particularly known for obeying authority, and despite the fact that his overworked mother (damn Capitol) had wanted everybody to stay in the cramped apartment building they called home for 'family time', Techno snuck off, carrying a satchel. Toward where? The little green near the harbor of Cornelius Snow River (stupid name really, naming a river after some damn evil president, and no Techno did not give a shit that he was the old president) where all the rich bitches of his district sailed and fished and had fun. He hated the fact that those rich buttkissers could party and even effing sail while his family usually had to skip dinner.

Honestly. He passed a girl with short dark hair flirting with a tan-skinned guy with shaggy brown hair and rolled his eyes. He could tell from their nice-looking clothes that they were probably rich.

He looked around to make sure nobody was watching him, brushing his scruffy blond hair out of his dull green eyes. Okay. No one. He ducked behind a large pile of scrap metal, slowly inching forward...then made a run for it. And then he was in his private little heaven.

Techno had found the place when he was thirteen. Ever since then, he considered himself the only one who knew about it. He called it the Park, and that was what it kinda was. It was a small area, maybe the size of his family's apartment building. Random patches of grass and weeds decorated the rocky ground. There were two lone _old_ trees in the corner, one of them practically split in half due to the horrible storm yesterday. Techno had lined the walls of the abandoned factory with mirrors and reflective scrap metal he had accumulated over the years to reflect the sunlight into the Park. He had also constructed a series of scrappy, slightly leaky pipes (who cared, it did the job) to water the place.

He opened his satchel and took out a small box. It was the width of his math textbook and as long as those white phone things he spent nine hours a day assembling. Inside were a multitude of small coins, some made of glass, some of silver and gold (but he would never sell them, hell no), some of wood and plastic, but all of them had intricate designs of animals carved on them. His favorite was a golden one of two wolves nuzzling each other. At least, he_ though_t they were wolves. Techno thought they were a time capsule from the past, but he wasn't sure. There used to be letters on the box, but they were faded.

Techno walked over to inspect the fallen old tree. He brushed his fingers across the cool wood. Maybe he could bring some home to light up the fire. Yes, he should do that. His fingers ran over a hole and he frowned. He had never noticed the hole before.

Inside the hole was a piece of yellowish, almost crackled paper, split with age. He stared at it before he realized what happened~someone had put it in the tree when the tree was still young, probably a mere sapling, and then the tree had grown over it. He carefully smoothed the paper. Most of the words on the paper were unreadable and faded, but he caught three.

_keep on hoping._

He closed his eyes and vowed to do just that. Because one day, District Three would be safe from the Capitol's clutches, and he would lead their rebellion.

* * *

**Next chapter will be more tributes. I'm sorry for the wait, and I honestly hoped to get more tributes in, but anyway enjoy!**


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